


We'll See What Happens

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [54]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Space Pirates, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 02:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The worst part, McCoy thinks as Jim Kirk's breath finds his cheek, as his fingers trace the ridges at the back of Jim’s neck, is that they’ve been here before, two shakes from the edge of a kiss.





	We'll See What Happens

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I'll do it. But only for attention. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

The worst part, McCoy thinks as Jim Kirk's breath finds his cheek, as his fingers trace the ridges at the back of Jim’s neck, is that they’ve been here before, two shakes from the edge of a kiss. But they’ve always stepped back from it, always pulled away from that particular fall, and if he doesn’t find the willpower to do that soon, like right now, ten seconds ago, then tonight, they’re gonna go over.

Five years they’ve known each other, going on six, and while some days that feels like a lifetime, other days it feels like a blip, a snap, time that’s passed in the blink of an eye. Doesn’t help that they’ve spend most of those years running around the weirder parts of the galaxy, or that for the most part, their time is spent alone with only the other for company. In between raids and trades and the occasional unfortunate stabbing, it’s just he and Jim and the universe, drifting on a life between stars.

Their ship isn’t that small; their business requires serious storage space and anyway, Jim’s a damn size queen when it comes to interstellar craft. Anytime they have to stray too close to Federation space--a prospect that gives Leonard hives--Jim has his face plastered to the nearest viewscreen, jonesing for a glimpse of anything wearing a _USS_ on her bow. Once, fresh off a run to Orion, they’d come within spitting distance of a Constitution-class behemoth and Jim hadn't shut up for a week, yammering on about warp nacelles and photon torpedoes when he should've been sketching the plans for their next score.

Leonard gets the kid’s obsession with the Fleet. He really does. Hell, if fate had unfolded the way it should have, Jim would be driving one of those things, sitting in a big chair with braid on his shoulder and a thousand beings at his command, the treasures of a million worlds at his beck and call. But his father had come back from the service wounded and hateful, had driven Jim’s mom away, his baby brother in tow, and when his dad finally drowned in his favorite bottle, Jim had been on his own: no money, no family, no connections, just a raw determination not only to survive but to get the hell off of Earth and shove his way, kicking and screaming if he had to, out into the vast reaches of space. At 15, Jim’s morals had been flexible, his farmboy body limber, and that plus a pretty face had gotten him in to meet the right kind of wrong beings, the kind who taught him how to use his mouth for more than sass and how to lift his casual pickpocket skills to a grander scale, to make his talent for sticky fingers something akin to an art.

By the time Leonard had met him a decade later, Jim was a force to be feared: gorgeous and wily, with a tongue that could charm the unwary out of their valuables as easily as out of their clothes. He had his own ship--a little skimmer he’d rolled from a rich boy on Titan-- a chip on his shoulder, and the bluest eyes Leonard had ever fucking seen, eyes so bright they glittered even in the dim light of ShiKahr’s premiere shitkicker bar.

“I don’t get it,” Jim had said. “If you hate Vulcan so much, why the fuck are you here?”

McCoy had snorted, knocked back the last of his drink. “What part of _stranded_ don’t you get, kid? I’m out of credits and I ain’t got no prospects, that’s why.”

Jim reached over and plucked the glass from Leonard’s fingers, set it down on the bar. “Maybe if you weren’t burning your credits on this crap, you’d already be gone.”

“Fuck you.”

Jim spread his hands, gave up a grin. “Not what I’m offering, but I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Leonard’s head spun. The music was too loud and there were too many people and this insolent kid was way too pretty to be talking to him, much less offering--what? “What’s on the table, then?” he asked.

“I’m looking for a partner. Somebody to ride half stake with me. On a trial basis at first, of course. Until we see how things shake out.”

“We just fucking met and you’re asking me to, what, become your first mate?” Leonard laughed. Held onto the bar and laughed some more. “You’re an idiot.”

“Nah. I trust my gut.”

“Oh yeah?” Leonard leered. “And what’s your gut say about me?”

“That I can trust you.” He smiled again, this time with teeth. “That you’re smart and kind of desperate. That you’re more interested in a job than a quick fuck.”

McCoy met the kid’s eye and something there startled him: an intensity, a singular sort of focus. These were eyes that looked beyond the next big score, the next opportunity for a fast buck. These were the eyes of a man with a goddamn plan.

“Show me this ship of yours,” Leonard heard himself say, “and we’ll see what happens, huh? How about that?”

Jim had stepped into him, gone from a casual lean to a full-body press. Another step and they’d have been nose-to-nose. McCoy could feel the heat of him, the boil of a sullen sea just beneath the surface of the kid’s body, and he had a flash of Jim’s white shirt, tight black trousers, boots, crumpled beside his bed. This was business and he knew that--Jim was just playing his trump card, the one he probably always threw down to seal a deal. He didn’t really want Leonard to kiss him or to stroke his hips or say something sweet about his cock. This was business, damn it. Straight up.

Jim smiled again, apparently satisfied by whatever bullshit was on Leonard’s face. “I’m in the Shadow Ley port outside of the city. Berth 5. Come find me when you sober up. But I’m outta here at 1800 hours tomorrow. If I don’t see you by then, just know: I don’t chase.”

“Yeah,” McCoy had said after Jim left, standing loose-limbed at the bar and trying to will down his dick. “‘Course you don’t.”  



End file.
